had the grace to blush. She had gone too far. ‘I did not mean that, my lord. I meant that, according to my father, Master Fryde has changed for the worse since his election to the council. He expects to be sheriff at the next election in January. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t. I wondered if he and your father were…perhaps…?’
‘There is no collusion there as far as I’m aware. From what I hear, anyone who colludes with Master Fryde needs a deep purse. He comes expensive, and my father does not seek the friendship of such men, whatever else he does.’
Glances were exchanged. They knew well what else Rider La Vallon did, particularly to swell the population hereabouts. One of the men took up the questioning. ‘So, have you any suggestions, mistress, as to where your brother and Mistress Isolde might have gone, presuming, of course, that they are indeed together? Her honour is now at—’ He jumped and frowned as his ankle was kicked by the seated chaplain.
‘Her honour is at stake, is it?’ said Felicia in her most sugary tones. ‘Then she and I have more in common than ever I had thought.’ Her eyes were downcast, unwilling to meet Sir Gillan’s glare. ‘But I have no idea where they might be.’
‘Enough!’ he snapped. ‘Go, both of you. It’s late, but you should be able to reach York some time tomorrow. Give the bloody man hell and tell him to get my daughter back into safekeeping or he can say goodbye to any sheriff’s office. I’ll bring the roof down on him: incompetent, self-seeking little toad. And I thought he was trustworthy. He promised me he’d take care of her, dammit!’
The two men bowed and left the room, leaving the chaplain still complacently seated until Sir Gillan bellowed at him, ‘And you can draft a letter to Allard in Cambridge. I can’t go to York, but he can. Time he made himself useful.’
The chaplain pulled forward his scrip, to take out his quills and ink, but was halted before he could reach for the parchment.
‘Not here, man! Go and do it in the hall. Tell Allard he’s to go to York and put the fear of God into Fryde. He’s to deputise for me. Understand?’
The discomfited chaplain hesitated, unwilling to leave Felicia in the sole company of his volatile employer. But he was given little choice in the matter.
‘Well? Go on. I’m not going to eat her!’
The door closed, leaving Sir Gillan Medwin with a scowl on his brow that reached only as far as the top of his captive’s exaggerated head-dress. ‘Take that contraption off your head, woman, and come here.’
Obediently, she went to stand before him and suffered him to unpin the huge inverted and padded horseshoe netted with gold and swathed with gauze, and to shake her hair free of its embroidered side-pieces. She would not help him, but kept her eyes lowered. ‘My lord,’ she said, ‘it took me almost an hour to put that on.’
‘So what would they talk about at dinner, d’ye think, if I let you walk out of here unmolested? Eh?’ He took a deep fistful of her black hair and drew her face tenderly towards his own. ‘And do not sail quite so close to the wind, wench, with your talk of honour and such. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Slowly, she raised her arms and linked them around his head, drawing his lips close to hers until they met. Then, as if time had run out on them, as if their bodies, stretched to breaking point, could bear the delay no longer, their mouths locked, searching desperately. Breathless, laughing with relief, and with barely enough space to reassure each other, they clung as long-lost lovers do. Felicia cupped his face in her hands to taste him again. ‘Dearest…beloved…the pretence. I cannot keep it up…truly… I cannot.’
His laughter brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘That problem, wench, is quite the reverse of mine. Just feel…’ He took her hand and guided it.
Her attempt at shock was unconvincing. ‘Sir Gillan, not only have you stolen your neighbour’s daughter, but now you make indecent suggestions to her. Are you not—?’
‘Ashamed? Aye, that I cannot keep my mind on its business for love of you. How long is it since you put your spell on me?’
‘Years,’ she whispered. ‘Too many wasted years, God help us. Come, sweetheart, we must put Isolde first. My brother’s morals are not of the purest, as you well know. We must see what’s to be done about that first.’
He held her close, smoothing her hair. ‘Good, and beautiful, and caring. How did Rider La Vallon manage to spawn a woman like you?’
‘Ah…’ she caught his hand and kissed it ‘…he’s not what you believe, dear heart. You used to fish together as lads, did you not? And ride, and fight, and go whoring too, I believe? Admit it!’ She laughed, shaking the hand.
He did, sheepishly. ‘A long time ago.’
‘Not all that long ago. He’s never been malicious, Gillan. He’d never approve of putting Isolde in danger. Nor would Bard. There has to be another explanation.’
‘I hope to God you’re right, my love. She’s only a wee lass.’
‘She’s a woman, Gillan. Like me,’ Felicia said.
For want of a more original approach, Isolde repeated her concern. ‘What’s my father going to say? Have you thought about that?’
‘No, I cannot say I’ve given it too much thought.’ Silas La Vallon braced his arms like buttresses against the ship’s bulwarks and smiled, but whether at her question or at the appearance of land Isolde could not be sure. ‘I’ll concern myself with that when I have his reply in my hand.’
‘Reply? You’ve sent him a message?’ Yelping in alarm, the seagulls swooped round the rigging.
‘I sent him a message. Yes.’ He continued to study the horizon.
Isolde bit back her impatience. The man’s composure was irritating, as was his complete command of the situation, his refusal to respond to her disquiet. ‘Then since it probably concerns me, would you mind telling me what it contained? Or was it to do with the price of Halifax greens?’
Slowly, he swung his head to look at her, taking his time to drink in the reflection of the sea in her blazing green eyes and the fear mixed with anger. He knew she feared him, and why. ‘I dare say it can do no harm,’ he said. ‘I told him I’d keep you as long as he keeps Felicia, that’s all.’ The slight lift of one eyebrow enhanced the amusement in his eyes at her dismay, and at the temper she was already learning not to waste on him. She was silent. Fuming, but silent. That was good. ‘Well, maid?’ he teased her. ‘What d’ye think he’ll say to that? You know him better than me.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she said.
‘Maid? Why ever not? Are you telling me—’ his smile was barely controlled and utterly disbelieving ‘—that you’re not a maid? That young brother of mine—?’
‘No! I’m telling you nothing of the sort,’ she snapped in alarm, trying to push herself away from the bulwarks to avoid him, but too late. His arms were now braced on each side of her and the information for which she had pressed him had now swirled away on another current.
‘No, maid, or you’d be lying. You’ve not been handled all that much, have you?’
‘You are impertinent, sir! Let me go!’
‘I’ll let you go, but not too far. Once we reach land, you’ll be safer staying close to me.’
‘Safer?’ She glared at him in open scorn. ‘Safer than what? You are a La Vallon and I am a Medwin; I’ve seen how safe that can be.’
The sea breeze lifted the dark silky overhang of hair from his brow, revealing a fine white scar that ran upwards like a cord and unravelled into his hair. ‘Safe,’ he repeated. ‘You have little to fear from me, I assure you. I shall treat you well as long as you abide by the rules.’
‘What